89 
Private Talk

As handsome as Stirling appeared to Amanda, he could not say the same about Geoffrey as the two young men, both now over thirty, greeted one another. He had noticeably lost weight and his face seemed pale.

“Geoffrey!” said Stirling, giving his friend a warm embrace. “How are you!”

“Now that you are home for good,” replied Geoffrey, “I am certain I will be better than ever.”

The affection between the three friends resumed as if no time had passed at all.

“Geoffrey and I have discovered a new book this spring,” said Amanda excitedly, recovering her trembling emotions once Geoffrey and Stirling were talking together. “We’ve been dying to show it to you, haven’t we, Geoffrey?”

“Absolutely.”

“I can’t wait!” said Stirling. “How about tomorrow . . . I should spend the rest of today with my father and mother.”

“Today’s Friday—why don’t you both come over to the Hall tomorrow for lunch?” suggested Geoffrey.

“Agreed?” asked Stirling, glancing toward Amanda.

“Agreed!” she consented eagerly.

Inwardly Stirling was more concerned about Geoffrey’s lean and pallid appearance than he let on. After a pleasurable reunion with his parents, he walked to Dr. Armbruster’s surgery for a brief visit. After they had chatted for a few minutes, he brought up the subject of Geoffrey’s condition.

“I know,” sighed Armbruster. “It has been progressively worsening for a couple of years.”

“Do you see him regularly?” asked Stirling.

Armbruster nodded. “I do what I can, but it’s mostly limited to lozenges to try to reduce the coughing, and reminding him to bundle up and keep warm.”

“I don’t like the sound of it.”

“Nor do I. But I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you think . . .” Stirling’s voice trailed off.

“I don’t know, Stirling,” sighed Armbruster. “All I know is that these winters are not good for him, and every year his capacity to fight off infection seems to decline.”

————

On Saturday the three enjoyed much talk and laughter together, with Amanda and Geoffrey taking turns sharing passages out of their new favorite of the Scotsman’s books.

Sunday’s church service was a special time of rejoicing for Stirling, made all the fonder in that his heart had missed these people and the rich fellowship for so long. He sat next to Amanda and Jocelyn, with Geoffrey to her left, and his own parents to his right. Even as the service was concluding he decided that today was the day to do what had been growing in his mind for more than a year now.

After the service Stirling waited for a moment when she was not with Amanda, then approached Jocelyn.

“Is it good to be back, Stirling?” she asked.

“Better than you can imagine,” he answered. “As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. This will always be my home.”

Stirling hesitated briefly.

“I wondered,” he went on, “if I might come over and talk with you this afternoon?”

“Certainly, Stirling—would you like to come for tea about four?”

“No . . . I mean, thank you . . . but I meant in private.”

“Oh . . . right, I see—of course. Well, come anytime, then, and if you would like to stay for tea, that would be fine too.”

“Will . . . uh, will Amanda be home?”

“I believe so,” answered Jocelyn, “although I think she is going over to see Esther Spenser immediately after church.”

“Could I come right away then . . . I would rather talk to you when she wasn’t nearby.”

“Of course, Stirling,” said Jocelyn, growing more curious by the minute why Stirling, usually so confident and self-assured, had all of a sudden become so fidgety.

An hour later, Stirling sat down in the large lounge of Heathersleigh Cottage, nervousness written over every inch of his face. Jocelyn could see his discomfort but waited patiently for him to begin.

“This is hard, Lady Jocelyn,” he began at last, “but I don’t think there is any easy way to say it, so I will just start.”

He paused, took a deep breath, then continued.

“I wish I could talk to Sir Charles about this,” he said, “but I know you and Sir Charles were of one mind, and you are head of the family now, so it’s you I have to ask. The last thing I want to do is bring Amanda any more pain. I care too much for her to do that. But at the same time, I want to tell you what I am thinking, which is just this—”

He stopped and drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly.

“I know it seems presumptuous,” he continued, “even to think there could be anything between us. And she’s been my friend first of all . . . but I’ve been praying and talking to the Lord about it for almost a year now, wondering if he may have in mind for us to live our lives together. So that’s what I want to ask you about, if you think there could be any chance, and if you’d have any objections.”

Jocelyn smiled. She should have seen it coming.

“I can’t think of anything that would delight me more, Stirling,” she said.

“It is kind of you to say it.”

“And don’t be too sure about there being no chance. Amanda is very fond of you. Have you mentioned anything to her?” asked Jocelyn.

“Oh no . . . not yet,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know if she is healed enough from all that happened, you know . . . her past and the marriage to Mr. Halifax, and everything. But I wanted to ask you if you thought there might be hope.”

“I do, indeed, Stirling. And you certainly have my permission to speak with her, if that’s what you are asking. You and Amanda are both over thirty years of age and well able to make up your own minds what God wants for you, but decisions like this need lots of support. I appreciate your coming to me.”

Relieved to have the ordeal over with, Stirling let out another long sigh.

“Thank you, Lady Jocelyn,” he said. “I was really nervous.”

“I could tell!” smiled Jocelyn.

Outside, they heard Amanda’s voice singing the closing hymn from church as she approached the cottage after her visit with Mrs. Spenser.

Quickly Stirling stood. Jocelyn rose also, went to him and embraced him warmly, then stepped away.

Stirling turned and made for the door.

“Hello, Amanda,” he said as he hurried past her outside and toward his horse.

“Stirling . . . I didn’t know you were here,” she said. “Did you—”

But already Stirling was climbing into the saddle and galloping away.

Bewildered, Amanda continued on. She met Jocelyn at the door.

“What did Stirling want, Mother?” she asked.

“He had private business with me,” answered Jocelyn.

“Private business with you!” laughed Amanda. “What is that supposed to mean . . . what kind of business?”

“I told you—private business.”

“And he didn’t even want to see me?”

“I am sure he will talk to you when he feels the time is right.”

“Talk to me about what?”

“Never mind. Just be patient.”

Amanda continued into the cottage to change her clothes, more perplexed than ever.